


not quite one night

by slythos



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bad Decisions, M/M, One Night Stands, Piscean Venusity, Some Humor, at least, mentions of past relationships - Freeform, that was the plan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-10 23:20:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18417968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slythos/pseuds/slythos
Summary: Nevertheless, Doyoung is absolutely sure he will get deliciously fucked like he deserves to be, patience running thin as his hands fumble for the bottle of lube and a packet of condom he stuffed inside his back pocket for use while Pretty Boy pulls his underwear’s band teasingly.Naturally, the slippery bottle and the packet skip out of his hands just as he is about to hand them to Pretty Boy, both landing on the rim of the toilet bowl with soft clinks and diving straight into the small pool of yellowish water at the bottom.Pretty Boy and Doyoung stare at the bottle and the condom floating in the filth together with their desire to get laid that night.“We’re not doing it.”“No. We’re horny, not savages.”





	not quite one night

**Author's Note:**

> a fic well overdue, not for the audience no, but for me who has been putting up with its unfinished state ever since last year. posting this was CATHARTIC.
> 
> posted valiantly without beta support. title was taken from song lyrics i'd write if i was talented enough.  
> emotional support song is [3 nights by dominic fike](https://open.spotify.com/track/1tNJrcVe6gwLEiZCtprs1u)

Kim Doyoung has his own share of bad breakups, most of the untimely variety and he just didn’t see coming.  

He once dated Chinese man Dong Sicheng during freshman year with the experience of a recently-outed queer person, juggling the task of figuring himself out and being a decent boyfriend for the first time. He should’ve known this, combined with a closeted partner is not a good recipe for a smooth stew of a blossoming college romance treading through uncharted waters. They lasted for two months before they part in good terms, but not before Sicheng was accidentally outed to his entire classy family when they got caught making out behind the Dong family’s exquisite drapes at their own party. The scene almost caused at least two individual heart attacks, and Doyoung had felt horrible for leaving soft, timid Sicheng in the mercy of his conformist family after that, just as he is wrecked over a failed relationship that had been picking up nicely.

Predictably, Sicheng dropped contact altogether after that, whether or not by choice, Doyoung never knew. It’s exactly the type of scarring experience that justified the strings of failed kitchen experiments Doyoung dedicated himself into to wash off the bitter taste it left in his mouth. It didn’t completely erase the entire thing from his mind, but seeing the numerous deflated soufflé helped a bit.

There was also Wong Yukhei whom he dated for a month and blissfully thought of as The One before he was being outweighed by an apparently more enticing modelling contract back in Hong Kong. But that was okay, Yukhei was young, gorgeous _and young_ and has so much up ahead of him. Doyoung couldn’t possibly hold the choice against him, but still, it didn’t stop him from falling into a sort of pet-adoption phase despite strict instructions against it imposed in their apartment. Doyoung had managed to smuggle in three Beagles before his roommate, Jungwoo threatened to rat him out after all three of the puppies mercilessly ripped his childhood stuff toy Teddy to shreds. He had also made a few unsolicited allegations the reason behind this behavior and his specific taste for Beagle puppies was because they remind him of Yukhei and Doyoung had never felt more betrayed by his subconscious.

Eventually, Doyoung had to let the puppies go, and once again, had suffered through another heartbreak in the process. To patch this up, he had then proceeded to drown his troubles by chronic caffeine intake as a better alternative, but even that caused him severe anxiety issues.

The truth is, Doyoung had always been bad at handling breakups. Or so his friend Jungwoo fondly points out every time Doyoung refuses to cry over his exes who all chose to dump him, and instead diverts the heartbreak over other more ridiculous activities no matter how hard Jungwoo judges him for them. What does Jungwoo know exactly? Who is he to advise crying over being creative? Certainly, no one with near as many experiences as Doyoung does.

(“For your information,” Jungwoo had scoffed indignantly. “I’ve had my own share of breakups. But I’m _always_ the dumper, so yeah, you’re right. I wouldn’t know.”

Doyoung accidentally (not) dumped way too much pepper onto Jungwoo’s soup and his roommate wheezed his nose off.

“Your kind has a special place in hell.” Doyoung seethed, half-drunk because alcohol was being a better friend than Jungwoo and the pepper shaker he wielded as a knife gave him the blissful illusion of power. “Karma will make sure you rot there.”

The food was deemed inedible after Jungwoo had sprayed his virus all over them.)

In retrospect, there had been quite a few flings Before, After and In Between Yukhei and Sicheng, but none of which he invested with the same intensity and commitment in as with the two aforementioned yet the falling out still had the same unfortunate effect on him, no matter how infinitesimal, so maybe yeah. Jungwoo was kinda right. He sucks at handling breakups.

His worst yet was after the Dimpled Sex-God Jung Jaehyun.

 

 

Jung Jaehyun, not to oversell him or anything, is perfection on legs, and perhaps the best Doyoung has ever done. He has the sweetest smile, the cutest dimples and the best love, basically, everything he could ever ask for in a partner which makes his very existence in Doyoung’s life almost too good to be true. Well, Doyoung thinks it’s true for half a year and a month until Jaehyun decides he should aim to be an even more perfect human being and breaks off their relationship to focus on law school. Suffice to say, despite managing to hold himself together as Jaehyun was walking away from their favorite booth in the local coffee shop, the breakup didn’t go well for Kim Doyoung because it never really does, and a breakup with a man he sincerely loved was an even worse one.

Crying might’ve covered it. But Kim Doyoung is not good at handling breakups.

 

 

On the night Jaehyun broke up with him, Doyoung formulates a fairly healthy to-do list: 1) get fucked hard, 2) get drilled good, 3) get dicked down, 4) get forked, 5) get rawed and finally, 6) get plowed to oblivion by the most gorgeous man he sees under the trippy, disco lights who’ll look just as delicious under shitty, cheap bathroom light and whose tongue techniques will take Doyoung’s mind off the sitting stacked up work waiting for him on his desk and his ridiculous, aching heart, 7) all the while, in a blissful state of intoxication.

But he knows he’s getting none of those done if he stayed inside the confines of his dismal apartment, eating away his roommate Jungwoo’s ice cream stash as per his gracious offer after finding out about Jaehyun’s decision to split with his extraordinarily, chivalrous speech that includes, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be the man who’ll love you the way you deserved to be loved and more”.

(Jungwoo had clutched his chest without a stain of irony after Doyoung’s mumbled recount of how the breakup went down and pulled out his personal ice cream supply from their shared mini-fridge after, jaw set and eyes genuinely moist. “You take this. You eat your heart out. That guy is a sex-god and Shakespeare rolled into one and you should definitely cry because you lost more.”)

That’s not really helping his case. And neither was the ice cream no matter how tantalizing.) (Also vanilla is not his tub of ice cream.)

Besides, after a few hours of building up irrational post-breakup rage, his mind overrides with the perverse thought that Jaehyun doesn’t deserve the classic moving-on-through-ice-cream process. He deserves to be forgotten after a random mind-blowing sex in a random, disgusting bathroom and demoted to Doyoung’s long list of “Whomst the Fuck” acquaintances who wouldn’t get a seat at his wedding (assuming he lives long enough to actually get wed and not perish mid-final exams and he finds a guy who’s not Jaehyun and suitable enough to be his groom) because _what kind of heartless heartbreaker breaks a seven-month, possibly serious relationship during finals week when Doyoung is the most unstable for fuck’s sake?_

Even Kim Doyoung couldn’t possibly cram and cope.

So, for the lack of more effective options and better judgment, Doyoung goes down to a fancy pub dressed his sluttiest, looking for the nicest-looking guy and a morning-after, thundering hangover that’s going to speed up his moving on process so he can finally proceed to die for his oncoming exams. Priorities, of course. Doyoung might be sad and horny, he still has his head straight on the important things.

In less than thirty minutes sitting on the counter and downing his preferred series of vodka shots, he obtains a good selection of one-night stand applicants: cute, nice body and look like they’re down for a one-time thing, all pouring over predatory eyes on him from different corners of the club, heated with interest but yet to make the first move.

It’s one of the rare moments Doyoung longs for Jungwoo’s presence by his side, acting as a quality-filter, listing out each potential bedmate’s pros and cons into his ear. (“Cute. Cute. Not your type. Ooh! That one would probably like to choke you with his glistening biceps, do you have that kink? No. Shame. Could I have that one?”) But then again, Jungwoo is a hit and miss wingman, equally illustrious in both respects. The night might end up with Doyoung fucking one Jungwoo-stamped hottie, or Jungwoo fucking said Jungwoo-stamped hottie that should’ve been for Doyoung, but honestly tonight he’s glad Jungwoo has to stay over at his friends’ apartment for a group study, Doyoung couldn’t be arsed overthinking which could be which at the end of the night.

Doyoung downs another shot, reassessing his options and making sure he winks at the one with the biceps.

The prettiest one in his selection sports an adorable tuft of dirty blonde hair at the base of his neck, pink lips glossy and lazy eyes glittering under the flashy lights. He sits on a stool at the other end of the counter, along with a beer in front of him and the light playing off the glitters on his satin shirt. It shifts whenever he checks Doyoung out with his sharp sidelong glances and tiny smirks of amused awareness, loose fabric slithering down his slender shoulders at the slightest of movements to reveal an impressive curve of collarbones.

And _God,_ that choker.

The most impressive thing about him is the mullet, which should’ve been a huge off because of the questionable 80s hairstyle revival— _mullet really—_ but he exudes enough charm to pull it off, a tasty blend between _ghastly_ and _sexy_ on him as if it were humanly possible to be so at once, and the marvel of how such a thing be so revolting and endearing at the same time keeps Doyoung enchanted enough to have his attention on him and on him alone. His mind wanders as his eyes stay on him, mulling over having those thin lips pressed against his, parting out hot breaths of Doyoung’s name. Feeling the ghost of his slender fingers gliding up and down his back, nails clawing at them the next second...

A new beat shatters his fantasies with fresh, thundering tones, and Pretty Boy laughs behind his hand because Doyoung has stared a little too long.

Perhaps it is the vodka talking, _oh magical liquid,_ or the fact that his pants is just beginning to feel too tight to bear any longer or just plain desperation sitting hot and scalding against his throat all at once that he empties out the last of his shots, meandering over with his most charming smile and a fresh bottle of vodka.

Pretty Boy is just finishing a shot himself, lips curling up into a smirk when he sees him approach. He says a soft, “Hey” to which Doyoung responds with a softer one, breath hitching at the shine in Pretty Boy’s eyes up close.

“About time you come down.” Pretty Boy is smiling. Soft, flirtatious and prying. “Are you finally going to take a picture?”

“I’ll choose to live in the moment.” Doyoung grins with the haze of alcoholic flirtatiousness. He’s thinking, but not with his mind. “It’s hard trying to resist. Did anybody ever tell you it’s a chore with you?”

“A few.” Pretty Boy shrugs, chin on hand and a smile on his lips. “But most get too intimidated to even let me know. Shouldn’t you be too?”

 _Oh._ Doyoung thinks, licking his lips and thinking this guy’s hot meter just burst out through the roof. Nice. “No, that wouldn’t get me anywhere tonight.”

A soft, yet cheeky smile found its way across Pretty Boy’s lips. “And where’s that exactly?”

 

 

Doyoung imagines being perched hard against a dirty stall, panting and rutting against the prettiest stranger with his impressive technique at thrusting his heartbreak away as per his list dictated things will go down that evening.

The problem is Doyoung’s list did not accommodate certain... unexpected events. 

It’s only a matter of time before Pretty Boy’s pushing him against the wall inside the stuffy bathroom stall, hard and breathy, and just so, _so warm_ and Doyoung couldn’t even fault himself for pulling him desperately, nails clawing at the sliver of skin at his absurdly slim stomach. Under the pale light, Doyoung makes out his attractive figure, smooth curves and firm hips under his shaky, grabby hands, nothing like Jaehyun’s somewhat sturdy build, but he decides he likes the way it’s easier to wrap his arms around his waist and hold him in place where he wants him to be.

He also likes the way his hips thrust against his, sluggish and teasing, all delicious pressure on his groin in the right, mouthwatering timing. Doyoung lets out a whiny whimper at one particularly smooth grind and a shiver runs down his spine when Pretty Boy lands a kiss on a sweet spot just behind his earlobe, softly teething it after.

He is exactly the motherfucking tease Doyoung expected him to be.

Pretty Boy is in no hurry to get in his pants, despite his impassioned tendency to taunt his throbbing cock with expert brushes of his own but his kisses aren’t a bore either, just sweet and wet yet all the while sucking him in for more. Doyoung happily obliges, _don’t mind if he does_ , and makes up for the fervor with the force of his needy lips.

“I want it... rough and fast...” Doyoung gasps in between the mesh of lips, every word taken in hot and hungrily by Pretty Boy’s pretty mouth. He flips on his back, forehead pressing hard against the colorfully-decorated stall and legs shimmying his pants down to his knees. “Come on, pretty boy.”

Pretty Boy’s hands get caught in his hair, and he pauses. “Oh.”

Doyoung tries not to think about how he could _hear_ his dick throbbing. “What?”

“I thought you’re... You wanna... Oh. Okay. Um.”

He risks a glance over his shoulder and sees Pretty Boy fumbling with his own belt, sporting a curious shade of red across his cheeks as if he’s caught in a promising situation he did not expect.

Then, everything clicks.

“Oh no...” Doyoung whispers, catching on to what must’ve been the hold-up. “Are you...”

There’s a shy pause before Pretty Boy asks quietly. “Am I what?”

“Are you... always a bottom?”

Pretty Boy might’ve blushed from behind him, and the slight pause is all the answer he needs. “Doesn’t matter. Now bend over.”

Before anyone can bend over, a crash thunders above the music, cut short followed by a series of shrieks, booming and authoritative commands of “This is the police, get down!” and shuffles of the authorities pouring into the club on the other side of the bathroom door.

Of all things to possibly happen, of course, it’s a drug bust. But as much as Doyoung wanted to get deliriously fucked, he doesn’t want to go to jail under misconstrued circumstances so with an aching heart and an even more painful dick, he squeezes himself out the thankfully sizable window, peeling himself off Pretty Boy once they drop to their knees behind the brushwood.

Pretty Boy is laughing, a little breathless and a little more beautiful under the moonlight with eyes dancing with pent-up excitement and adrenaline rush. Doyoung would never have minded if he took him right there and then, but Pretty Boy huffs instead, “So, same time tomorrow night?”

In the haze of his own fantasies, it’s as good a promise as any other. Doyoung pulls his silk shirt and smashes their lips together just long enough to send his senses reeling yet again at the taste of cherries, alcohol and a promise. Then, he laughs. “It’s a date.”

 

 

On the second night, there isn’t any drug bust, thank goodness. But there’s another problem.

Doyoung and Pretty Boy has already picked up from where they left off inside the same unsanitary bathroom stall (because Doyoung isn’t keen to stray off from the demands of his list just yet); a hot mouth on Doyoung’s neck, nipping and licking, his hands clutching Pretty Boy’s ass which is _there_ despite what his eyes perceive, feverish lust itching on their skin, and hot sparks zipping across the stale bathroom air that might just be their throbbing dicks talking.

Nevertheless, Doyoung is absolutely sure he will get deliciously fucked like he deserves to be, patience running thin as his hands fumble for the bottle of lube and a packet of condom he stuffed inside his back pocket for use while Pretty Boy pulls his underwear’s band teasingly.

Naturally, the slippery bottle and the packet skip out of his hands just as he is about to hand them to Pretty Boy, both landing on the rim of the toilet bowl with soft clinks and diving straight into the small pool of yellowish water at the bottom.

Pretty Boy and Doyoung stare at the bottle and the condom floating in the filth together with their desire to get laid that night.

“We’re not doing it.”

“ _No._ We’re horny, not savages.”

 

 

On the third night, they know better than to let the bottle of lube get anywhere near the toilet bowl but the good news is, for a bottom, Pretty Boy fucks Doyoung _really good_ so at least, that’s a few tick-offs on his list.

 

 

As far as morning-afters go, they’re usually a Doyoung kind of thing. No one, not even Perfect Jung Jaehyun has ever managed to wake up before Early Bird Doyoung does on the mornings so this completely takes him by surprise.

Morning-afters extend a degree of importance to him because he likes to think, he has it all figured out.

He wakes up first, puts his clothes on first while the Pretty Boy who did him a favor is still snoring under the covers like a baby as he tiptoes out of whatever cheap motel they booked themselves in the night before and off he goes, never to be seen again. It’ll save them both the trouble of awkward, sober encounters and superfluous engagement by knowing each other’s name.

It’s the perfect escape plan—the perfect finish to his one-time thing he planned. Of course, there are setbacks to his plans. There always is with this guy.

When Doyoung wakes up to the sound of food frying, he instantly knows he isn’t in his apartment because there’s no way in hell Jungwoo’s cooking would smell that good. The biggest giveaways, though, are the lavender-scented sheets and lack of any bunk bed. Judging by the lack of any dubious, stuffy scent, it certainly isn’t a cheap motel either.

When Pretty Boy from last night strolls into the room in a white tank top and shorts and starts picking up the clothes strewn on the floor while whistling a happy tune, Doyoung has never wanted more than for the bed to swallow him whole.

 _Fuck and dash._ That was the plan. And now, there’s breakfast cooking in the background. And happy _whistling._

It stops a second after. “Oh, you’re up. Good morning.”

Doyoung has never wanted to die by pillow suffocation this badly. He props himself up with his elbows, fisting the blanket up his chest for some decency no matter how overdue and pointless. “Hey...”

Pretty Boy doesn’t seem to notice as he carries on bending over from clothing to another. “Cooked breakfast for two. You should probably have some before you leave.”

Doyoung is not entirely sure if staring at him is appropriate given his previous shameful fuck and dash intentions. It feels like he’s violating something here, like he doesn’t deserve to marvel over this kind of beauty first thing in the morning. But he does anyway, and it’s pointless to deny the fact that he finds Pretty Boy so much more pretty in natural light even though bare of any hint of light make-up he had on last night, topped with haphazard hair and the bristly, dirty brown mullet. The mullet.

 _Oh._ Doyoung thinks. It looks more hideous than last night. Not hideous enough to make Doyoung stop staring though.

Pretty Boy catches his eyes, a questioning gaze that makes Doyoung haste onto his next train of thoughts. “You didn’t have to.”

He straightens himself up, and Doyoung turns a bashful shade of red when he catches the sight of his boxers draped over his arm. “Didn’t have to cook breakfast? I do have to eat though.”

“I mean...” he clears his throat. “Can you please pass me my clothes?”

Pretty Boy looks down at his load of clothing and smirks before tossing it over to him. Doyoung catches them one by one, balling each garment hastily as if it’d help with the shame.

“I mean, you didn’t have to take me here. To your place.”

The tilt of Pretty boy’s head painfully reminds Doyoung of all the confused puppies in the puppy videos he had once drowned himself in. “Are you suggesting I should’ve just left you there in the bathroom, passed out and dirty?”

That statement could’ve passed as an innocent concern yet the smile that pops after it suggests the intention is otherwise. Doyoung would’ve huffed by instinct at the display of blatant cheekiness, only if he didn’t find that amusing. “Good point.” _Still,_ he clears his throat, _a motel would’ve been easier to get out of._ “Thanks.”

He doesn’t belong here, but Taeyong doesn’t seem to think so. “You can thank me after you’ve eaten.”

“Actually,” Doyoung says, edging out of bed and bunching the sheets around his very naked waist. “I need to go, I have a class in 20 minutes.”

“It’s 10 AM.”

“Yeah, just the one before lunch.”

“It’s Sunday.”

He makes a wrong step, his entangled shin pulling the rest of the sheet off the spread and onto the floor with his body falling suit with a horrifying loud _thud._ “Ow.”

“...you okay?”

With a resigned sigh, Doyoung doesn’t bother covering his exposed backside and holds up the World’s Lamest Thumbs-Up. “Yeah.”

 

 

That little of stunt of his does not land him a quick ticket out of his apartment, instead, it lands him strapped on one of the apartment’s stylish stools and a plate scrambled eggs and of pancakes drizzled in maple syrup in front of him, a banana on the side, _the works,_ and a very expectant-looking Pretty Boy perched across him with his own breakfast helping, the total opposite of what he was going for.

Pretty Boy nudges the plate of toast towards Doyoung, like he’s feeding a kid. “Toast?”

Doyoung tries to smile. “Thanks.”

He carefully chews on the eggs—a startling smack of flavors at first bite, he has to suppress a knee-jerk moan from slipping out—and frantically eyes the food laid out in front of him that is no doubt, anything but a facile gesture.

Oh _god,_ it’s not, and from the looks of the shiny sheen to each dish which can only be achieved by time, effort and expertise, Pretty Boy clearly does not share the same _Fuck and Dash_ intentions and has wasted half an hour concocting this breakfast table for someone who isn’t even going to stay to chat up and get to know each other.

Dread sinks in as Doyoung swallows a particularly big bite of toast. “Uh, I really have to go. Thanks for the, um, food.”

“You’re welcome. I had a great time.” Pretty Boy smiles, and shit, _he’s glowing_. “I’m Taeyong, by the way.”

 _No, no, no._ He’s not supposed to know his name.

“And yours is?”

 _He’s_ not supposed to know his name either. It violates the _Fuck and Dash_ plan.

“Um.” Doyoung panics, picking the easier way out and saying the very first thing that pops into his mind when he’s in trouble. “I’m Johnny.”

“Johnny.” Taeyong tests it out on his tongue, slow and reflective.

“Yeah, Seo Johnny.”

Taeyong nods slowly, his squinting eyes suggest mild suspicions which might’ve been just the customary weird looks he’s known very well in the people’s faces over the prospect of the name Johnny on a Korean. He proceeds to the next part of the process. “My Korean name is Youngho. I’ve lived in America for a while.” And in his best American impression, _“I’m from Chicago.”_

“ _Youngho.”_ Taeyong nods. “That’s a nice name.”

Doyoung loses his next train of thought to the buzz coming from the door and eyes mindlessly after Taeyong as he leaps off to answer the door. He couldn’t see the door from where he’s sitting but the familiar, deep yet chirpy voice that booms through the doorway, partnered with the pit-pat of shoes on the floor, sends chills down his spine by its presence. “Oh good, you’re up. Good morning! Sorry to barge in on you like this, I think I left my Philosophy book around here somewhere. Really need it today. I was here last night but you were out.”

“Yeah, I was. Come on in. Check the shelves, I put stray books on there.”

“Thanks, Taeyongie! I’ll be out of your hair in a...” The owner of the voice trails off and towers at the kitchen’s entryway, staring at Doyoung with the wide eyes of surprise at first, cooling down to a look of confusion. “Oh, hey Doyoung.”

“Johnny!” Doyoung squeaks, laughing nervously and looking behind him where Taeyong walks up slowly, his arms crossed across his chest. “You’re here...”

“Yeah. I just needed to...” Johnny points at the shelves then frowns, twirling around to shift his gaze back and forth between Taeyong and Doyoung. “I didn’t know you and Taeyong know each other?”

“Uh—”

“Yeah, we do!” Doyoung forces out a laugh, gesturing vaguely. “It’s a funny story for some other time. I’ll tell you all about it.”

Johnny seems to accept the empty promise good-naturedly, traipsing his way into the living room and skimming through Taeyong’s books with his finger running along the spines. He mutters a soft “Ah! Yes!” and pulls out a thick hardbound, beaming as he makes his way back into the kitchen where Doyoung sits alone stiffly, bathing in concentrated embarrassment.

Johnny stops a few feet away from him and gives him a sticky once-over with his knowing eyes. 

Doyoung beats him to it. “Shut up.”

“Bed-heads. Taeyong wearing booty shorts. You look glowing.” Johnny reaches over and swipes Doyoung’s coffee, winking. “I’d say you kids had fun.”

“ _Shut up.”_

Johnny, the overgrown mongrel, cackles suggestively. “Burning a different kind of midnight oil, _if you know what I mean,_ but right before finals, huh. That’s ballsy.”

“Just fucking kill me.”

“But wow, it’s like watching two worlds collide.” Johnny smacks his lips, humming. “How did you two know each other?”

Doyoung buries his face on his hands. _“How are you friends with him?”_

“We’re in the same dance troupe. That’s how we’re friends.” Johnny pauses, confused. “Wait, that’s not what you mean...”

“I gotta go.”

Taeyong steps into the kitchen, now wearing sweatpants and a sweater. “How about some coffee, Johnny?”

“Yeah, sure—”

“Taeyong.” Doyoung’s conviction falters when Taeyong’s attention shifts to him. “I need to go.”

He doesn’t expect him to walk him out but Taeyong does, of course because he’s been nothing but nice to Doyoung. Preparing that breakfast for him, collecting his clothes for him, taking him to the comforts of his home only to be lied to in his face. It’s not a long walk to the doorway, but it’s enough time to make Doyoung think about how much of a jerk he’s been in the short span of thirty minutes.

Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth. It’s already hard enough as it is.

“You know,” Doyoung stumbles slightly against the door behind him when Taeyong’s nose grazes his cheek just _very slightly_ , enough to make him remember why he had stuck around for three nights even after a series of failed attempts at getting into Pretty Boy’s pants, instead of moving onto the next conquest. Taeyong’s breath is hot against his ear for a few seconds, but it makes his breath hitch pathetically like a pathetic high schooler. “if you didn’t like me, you should’ve just said so, _Youngho._ I wouldn’t take it personally.”

Taeyong does a great job at hiding it with a hesitant twitch of his lips—perhaps disappointment, some questions, possibly hurt to some degree, all things he has every right to explicitly express, and he thinks how the heck can somebody be so nice to the jerk who has lied to his face?

“It’s not that, it’s just...” Doyoung sighs. “ _sex._ For me. It was just _that._ I was just letting some steam off. It’s been a rough week. I didn’t want to know your name and you told me and—”

“Oh,” Taeyong blinks, caught off-guard and he allows a shadow of hurt to finally cross his features. “okay. Wow, that clears up a lot of things.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen. “Ah, no—”

“No, no. _It’s fine._ Really. You don’t have to.” Taeyong cuts him off with a sharp flick of a wrist.  “I understand. You needed to sleep with someone and now you had. It’s no big deal.”

But it _is._ It’s not like Doyoung had disclosed any of his intentions beforehand (now that he thinks about it, he probably should’ve given that he had _three whole_ chances to do so) and they both agreed on it. It wasn’t a sort of pact. It was a display of idiocy, multiple nights of weakness instead of just one, a personal issue he never should’ve dragged other people into but he had, and now, Taeyong looks too dangerously blank to be consolable at the moment.

“Is there anything else, Youngho?”

“My name is—”

“ _No._ I don’t want to know.” Taeyong says. “You can go now.”

With that, Taeyong closes the door in his face, and Doyoung sighs, ruffling his hair.

He’d take a hangover over crushing guilt as a morning-after drawback any day.

 

 

“Where have you been, Easter Bunny?” Jungwoo greets him after he’s gotten rid of his shoes and flopped onto the couch like a sack of rice, poking him with a pencil and letting out a soft “ _Ya, die somewhere else.”_ Scattered all over the coffee table are layers of notes and a variety of energy drinks on it, testament to Jungwoo setting his priorities right as opposed to Doyoung’s dubious ones. “You’ve missed out on a lot of studying thrills. Wait. You haven’t been stalking Jaehyun or anything as creepy, have you?”

“ _No.”_ Doyoung makes a strangled noise. “Why would I do that?”

“Last time you went through a breakup, you bought a rusted, secondhand candy floss machine.” Jungwoo sifts through his notes, wiping crumbs off his lips. “God knows what you’ve been up to this time. God _knows_ what you’re capable of doing.”

It takes Jungwoo a bit of convincing that Doyoung: 1) didn’t spend the last few nights stalking Jaehyun, 2) trying to slip something in Jaehyun’s drink (“ _Why would I do that?_ ”) or 3) endeavoring to take back Jaehyun (“From _whom?_ No. We broke up clean and proper. That’s that. This has nothing to do with Jaehyun.”) After he shoots down every single one of Jungwoo’s ridiculous theories, he seals himself off the rest of the world and concentrates on studying for the rest of the day, steadily clearing through his pointers checklist albeit working through it with a bitter gray residue of that morning’s interaction along with the occasional guilty thoughts of Taeyong’s lips on his.

He’s halfway through a chapter when his door buzzes with the arrival of his much-needed chicken and he discovers his pocket empty except for his Smartphone.

“Shit.” He pats his pockets urgently. “ _No, no, no.”_

Jungwoo swoops in with the right change, thanking the delivery guy with a flirty smile before closing the door behind him. “What? What happened?”

“Jungwoo, fuck, _I lost my wallet._ All my cards and cash are in there!”

 

 

The best logical way to locate his wallet would be to retrace his steps the night before, starting with the last location he’s been at, but he doubts Taeyong wants to see his face again so he proceeds to his next option and goes down to the pub the next morning and finds it softly buzzing with faint jazz playing in the background, sprinkled with a few early customers and once that didn’t make it home last night. When he makes his inquiry about his lost wallet, the barman shakes his head. “Oh, buddy no such thing. In a place like this, your wallet’s long gone.”

Doyoung is well-aware of that more likely possibility, but his chest sinks anyway, stepping out of the establishment with heavy legs. After a while, Doyoung resigns to his optimistic part of him that wouldn’t shut up and apparently doesn’t care for his bruised ego, heading off to the direction he thinks is right, because _what the hell._ He’s already a jerk, might as well make sure he’s turned every stone and cling to the sliver of hope that he’s not entirely fucked. He’s able to locate Taeyong’s apartment, which is empty much to Doyoung’s unexpected relief. He doesn’t even notice he was holding his breath until after a passing neighbor of Taeyong’s told him about Taeyong’s gym schedule. The detail was both irrelevant and condemning in the respect that now, he couldn’t quite shake off the image of Taeyong working out at a gym. 

He arrives to Jungwoo, doing push-ups on the floor with a book under his face in the obvious attempt to make the most out of his time. “Hey,” Jungwoo wheezes, head jerking at the familiar brown wallet on the coffee table. “A certain Taeyong dropped by to give you that. What an angel. And a hottie— _oof!_ ” He drops to the floor with a soft yelp and utters a hot, “ _oh who the fuck am I kidding?”_

“Taeyong?” Doyoung blinks, unfolding his wallet and seeing his cards, licenses and cash still intact. “He gave you this?”

“There’s something you’re not telling me.” Jungwoo squints at him, still a little of our breath and now crouching on the floor. “Since when are you friends with someone _that_ hot? I don’t know about the mullet though, but—”

“I slept with him.”

“What?!”

He narrates the three nights detail by detail to the enchanted Jungwoo who proceeds to look unusually pensive and devoid of his usual brand of remarks after he ends his story. He sighs and mutters a soft, “Jesus. You should’ve just bought another candy floss machine.”

 _He is a dick,_ Doyoung knows that, and he also knows he’s fucked when his previously nonexistent resolve to patch things up with Pretty Boy From Last Night manifests itself into a Jungwoo-like figure and coagulates into something almost tangible, and harder to ignore. Harder to forget about. Tells him he shouldn’t.

The _Fuck and Dash_ plan was stupid, anyway. At least, it was after Taeyong breaks Doyoung’s expectations as easily as he took him home.

 

 

The acquisition of Taeyong’s number from Johnny is quite easy; all it cost him is a minute worth of patience for his suggestive jokes—something that he willingly bears because it’s a small price to pay. Plus, he probably deserves to sit through Johnny’s dad jokes anyway.

The hard part is the actual apologizing, not because he couldn’t find him anywhere or he couldn’t muster enough courage to call him, but because suddenly, _Lee_ Taeyong (It’s Taeyong with a _Lee_ now, _thanks a lot, John)_ is suddenly everywhere.

Doyoung hadn’t thought Lee Taeyong exist until a couple of nights ago, thought instead that with his striking beauty, mere mortals should _never_ lay their eyes on it and that his appearance among them is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, much less expect they had been going to the same university all along. It’s like the universe has finally found the chance to orchestrate Doyoung’s karmic reckoning and cruelly decided to shrink itself to intentionally mess with Doyoung’s head, posing each time both of them meet gazes as a string of unfortunate coincidences and putting Taeyong in places Doyoung never saw him before: rushing through university halls wearing specs and plaids (a handsome combination on him), dancing in practice rooms when Doyoung visits Johnny during Dance Troupe practices (“Yeah, that’s how we’re friends. We’re in the same troupe.” Johnny explains to him), reading a book in the soccer field, the men’s bathroom...

Doyoung squeaks when the stall’s door swings open away from his hand, and Taeyong comes stumbling out, wide-eyed and a few breaths away from him. 

 _What the_ fuck _, universe—ah, he’s really pretty_ is all he could think about _,_ which is as much a violation as his sporadic daydreaming about him stemmed from frequent brainstorming on how to approach him without turning into a puddle. His mind gets stuck there, caught in the perpetual process of registering Taeyong’s stinted breathing before him, but his eyes acquire the audacity to flit from one feature to another, breath held as they brazenly stop at Taeyong’s lips like the traitors that they are. Doyoung recovers just enough to not make a complete fool of himself and sidesteps at the same time Taeyong sidesteps in the same direction, both of them inadvertently mirroring each other for the next few seconds before he finally makes way for Taeyong to pass. 

His face burns up a few degrees when he speedily makes his way inside the stall, burying his face on his hands. When he could finally swallow most of his embarrassment down, he slips out only to find the bathroom empty, save for another student doing his business at one of the urinals who passes over a weird look from his haste through the mirror.

Doyoung sighs. If he’s going to freeze like a moron every time, apologizing is going to be so much _harder_ than he thought.

 

 

There is one time that he doesn’t flinch nor freeze at the sight of Taeyong. Instead, Doyoung makes a desperate dive behind the nearest bush after the first two seconds of making out his figure crouched over in one spot at the park, fingers stroking a gray cat’s fur. He has a tiny smile on his face, his chin digging between his knees. Doyoung peeks over the edge, probably looking like an even bigger moron now than ever, but is at perfect distance to watch and listen to the puffs of laughs Taeyong lets out every time the pleased stray cat does something adorably minimal. The treats he gives out draw out the rest of the abandoned cat army to check out the generous giggler, forming quite a crowd around him to mug him for everything he has with their needy  _meows._

Taeyong is laughing the entire time, chatting to the cats like they’re his naughty kids.

Doyoung finds out, when he doesn’t think too hard and too much about things, he could feel a lot.

 

 

Doyoung isn’t expecting to see an angry-looking Johnny leaning against the wall on his way out of the clubroom. His hopes of not being the subject of his spite vanish into thin air as soon as Johnny straightens himself up and catches up with him as he makes his way down the hallway.

“I heard what you did to Taeyong,” Johnny says, frowning like a disappointed dad. “Doyoung, _not_ cool. And you pretended to be _me?_ Why did you do that?!”

Doyoung winces. Yeah, this was bound to happen. “Youngho, I know, I’m sorry. I panicked. I didn’t know what to say.”

“So you said your name is Johnny,” Johnny says flatly.

“ _Yes, I did,”_ Doyoung says firmly. “I’m not proud of what I did and I feel bad for it. I’m sorry.”

“Oh no, I don’t think I’m the one who should be hearing that apology.”

“I know, I hear you.” Doyoung sighs. “He told you everything?”

“The guy is my best friend, Doyoung. It was only a matter of time before I find out about your previous...” he gestures vaguely, “sexual engagement. Now, I’m not going to beat you up or anything. Just wanted to ask what the _hell_ were you thinking.”

Truthfully, Doyoung was thinking he just wanted to get out of there. Partly from the panic, and the breakfast and the fact that his plan didn’t go the way he intended to. The devotion to his list picking at his groggy brain and nullifying his basic human decency temporarily, and all that. _At least_ , he could’ve given his real name, how seemingly extraneous it was to the situation. By lying, he had unintentionally made the debacle worse, ripping a small hole into something bigger. “I was planning to apologize. I just didn’t know how.”

Johnny shakes his head. “I managed to squeeze this one out of him because it was with you. I thought you guys are _dating._ ” He shrugs. “I was excited about it.”

“I’m not planning on dating anyone right now. I just got out of my last relationship.”

“With Jaehyun?” Johnny’s face loosens up into sympathetic. “Oh. Sorry to hear about that.”

He swallows thickly, yet manages to look dismissive and keep the bitterness from seeping through his voice. It’s surprisingly easy though, puzzlingly so. His mind has been occupied about setting things right between him and Taeyong that it had slipped his mind. “Don’t be. And that thing...” Doyoung makes vague gestures, then sighs. “It’s a mistake. I never should’ve done what I did. Not with your best friend. Why didn’t you tell me he’s your best friend?”

“I didn’t know you were going to bone him!” Johnny wrings his hands. “Look, things happened. All I wanted you to do now was to apologize to him because apparently, you never did. I’m not supposed to tell you this but that guy is my friend, dude. I won’t allow it. If you want me to, I can give you a few tips to help you out?”

Doyoung looks up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He loves food. A lot. Can’t eat spicy though, but he has a thing for homemade, and he has a sweet tooth. Loves Japanese treats.”

Doyoung nods along vehemently, swiftly taking mental notes by instinct and thinking of places and brands of Japanese candy he can get his hands on later. Maybe he could make him beef stew or something. Some dumplings. And get him tiramisu.

He stops. “That sounds like you want me to take your best friend out on a date.”

“ _No,_ what I was suggesting is that you have to get on his good side first,” Johnny says. “If you’re going for a smooth apology with tons of sweets to make up for the embarrassment. If not, then enjoy the physically painful awkwardness.”

Big Guy has a point, tiramisu can be an excellent awkwardness-breaker. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Yeah, _please_ do. It’s not every day this kind of thing happens to the guy. I mean, you have to understand, Taeyongie doesn’t do that so this is all new to him.”

Doyoung stops walking. “What?”

Johnny, who is now a few steps ahead of him, turns. “He doesn’t usually do one-night stands.”

“ _What?”_

“Does he look like the type?” Johnny catches himself, “Maybe he _does_ look like the type, but trust me, he’s not.”

Doyoung feels like he just stepped onto a bigger landmine than he thought he had. A couple of students calls Johnny’s attention and the big guy cheerfully returns the greeting, yelling out a “Catch you later!” after one of them.

To add to all the horror steadily piling up, Johnny turns back to him with innocent cheerfulness hanging onto his face, “If I remember correctly, I think you’re the first guy he slept with that _wasn’t_ his boyfriend or girlfriend. Guess he must’ve really liked you, and when he found out you didn’t feel the same...

_Ah, shit._

Doyoung is no stranger to feelings. Heck, he has done things himself he wouldn’t normally do when things go way too intense. He’s seen feelings wax and wane around him and _within_ him, and with the exception of a few, dealt with appropriately. Some were acted upon and had lead to positive developments; some were left to die out either for self-preservation purposes or the greater good due to their questionable nature. (Best example: Jungwoo’s crush for Professor Kim Jongin who’s not only his Ethics Professor but is also a married man.)

In this case, however, Doyoung’s going to pretend he did not learn about Taeyong’s potentially true infatuation towards him for the greater good, definitely. And because it’s easier; easier than having to acknowledge it, easier than having to deal with it. And ultimately, easier to get over it where it exists only within the bounds of his head, where it can thrive in the absence of words of confirmation. It’s _okay._ Whether it’s true or not, Doyoung doesn’t have to know. All he needs to do is just apologize.

At least, that’s what he plans to do.

He’s made attempts to contact Taeyong through texts, which had been ignored the first few times to no one’s surprise. For one, all his previous messages are just permutations of awkward greetings without any signature, not that any would make a difference. With Taeyong refusing to know his name, the only thing that’ll make Doyoung identifiable at the moment is if he introduces himself as “the guy who screwed you over the course of three nights” which is not exactly the right note to start reconciliation with.

He opts for the easiest and most reliable of his options, making a lunch pack of his best stew along with tiramisu and the Japanese treats he has procured and waits for Taeyong in front of his apartment, leaning against the wall for the sole purpose of looking cool.

Taeyong strides in approximately half an hour later, a gym bag slinging across his shoulders and apple-bun sprouting from his head. Both parties halt in surprise (Taeyong over Doyoung and the lunch pack, Doyoung over the hairstyle) with only their neurons firing inside their heads that might as well echo through the empty hall. (Doyoung’s probably set themselves on fire.)

Taeyong recovers first. “Can I help you?” When Doyoung proceeds to malfunction, Taeyong’s voice sharpens. “I said, _can I help you_?”

“Oh, um.” Doyoung holds up the pack. “I’m here for a trade.”

“What?”

“I brought beef stew and some dessert. You cook me one of those eggs you gave me that morning and I’ll trade you.”

Confusion is written across Taeyong’s face, undoubtedly trying to assess whether Doyoung is fucking with him or not, and truth be told, the outward expression he’s making is daunting (Taeyong has a generally daunting, symmetrical, perfect face that can only be shamelessly engaged when you’re either drunk or crazy horny. Or in Doyoung’s case, deeply regretful) but Doyoung manages to overpower the pressure of caving in and cowering in some corner. He holds his ground with the sincerity he hopes he can communicate through a neutral face, and it pays off a couple of minutes later when Taeyong’s own spells understanding. “Johnny put you up for this, didn’t he?”

“The trading? No. It’s all me.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, a barely noticeable alteration in Taeyong’s resolve as he shifts his gaze from the pack to Doyoung, and back again. The appeal must’ve been appropriately enticing for him because he pads the remaining distance between him and his door, slotting his key in with a firm, “Come on in.”

For a small, inappropriate moment, Doyoung thinks about which particular item on display was more tempting to him. Then, he decides it’s dangerous waters to dive into so he tries his best to keep his mind steady and resolute as Taeyong tells him to sit on one of the stools and begins cooking without further questions, the sound of it filling the tense air instead. Every now and then, Taeyong casts him dubious glances to which he responds with bright smiles. It gets sad fast, so he clears his throat when his smile is met with a grimace. “Johnny told me you’re from the same dance troupe. How come I haven’t seen you before?”

Small talk didn’t exactly feel like it’d work on Taeyong since he’s is practically radiating with hostile confusion, but he grunts. “It’s split into two groups, each one taking one practice room on campus. There are two, Johnny was in one, I was in another.”

“I watch John’s shows sometimes, but I don’t see your face onstage. If I have then...” _I’d never forgotten it._ The meaning openly hangs in the air but it somehow manages to fly over Taeyong’s head as he frowns in puzzlement. Doyoung feels his cheeks warm up considerably, clearing his throat once again to scramble for anything to say. “You join contests too?”

Taeyong nods slowly. “Yeah, sometimes. But mostly street dance off-campus.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Doyoung says. “I sing.”

With the spatula still poking on the pan, Taeyong gives him a genuinely surprised glance. “You any good?”

“I’d love to think so.” Doyoung sings a verse of a song he’s been working on, lips twisting slightly up when he sees Taeyong is watching him and not the sizzling eggs on the pan.

“Is that one of your songs?”

“Yeah.” He tries not to beam with pride so much. “But I don’t perform outside close circles.”

“You should.” By this time, Taeyong has finished with the eggs, faster than Doyoung expected—he already has a few conversational pieces to work with to pass the time that has already run out—and he lays them down in front of him smelling wickedly delicious. “Shall I wrap these up for you, give you a little baggie if you want? Or do you wanna dine in.”

Doyoung sniffs indulgingly, ignoring Taeyong’s derision. “These smell lovely. What spices?”

Taeyong pauses for a few seconds before responding with a soft, “It’s actually a secret.”

“Ooh, a secret recipe? _Nice.”_ Doyoung grins, Taeyong blinks at him. “Passed down from generation to generation? That sort of thing?”

“In a way, maybe.” Taeyong shrugs unmindfully. “But it’s just an accidental discovery thing, we don’t know if people already know about this but we kind of treated it like...” He trails off when he realizes he’s now doing the talking, peering at Doyoung’s expectant face as he softly nods along in deep interest to every word he says.

“Like a family secret sort of thing? I hear you. My great grandmother did the same,” Doyoung says, helping himself with the eggs. “She taught me how to cook this special stew when I was in high school and she insisted everyone in our family should learn to cook it that way but it turned out to be nothing too special to be a family secret recipe. Just a few added spices, a deeper flavor, but she was so proud of it.”

“It’s a bummer.”

“Yeah.”

“Thinking what you have is something special but it didn’t really turn out to be anything like that at all.”

Doyoung stops chewing. “It is.” He takes out the lunch pack from the bag. “Here. Have some of my beef stew.”

“Look, I know what you’re trying to do,” Taeyong says seriously. “You don’t have to. If Johnny put you up to this—”

“No. I came here on my own accord. Johnny didn’t talk me into doing anything. Although, we did talk about you.”

Taeyong is standing at the spot right where he was sitting a few weeks ago, Doyoung sitting where he sat exactly on the morning. It’s a strange thought to bloom in the silence that comes after.

It’s also weirdly strange how loud Taeyong _thinks._ You can practically hear him jotting down the Pros and Cons of having Doyoung sitting in front of him, eating his food and feeding Taeyong _his_ food. He’s frowning loudly, calculating, carefully picking out his next words after Doyoung’s abandon of his. He shouldn’t have said that but the courage from that night he came up to Taeyong comes rushing back and suddenly all caution was thrown to the wind.

“What did he say about me?” Taeyong asks carefully.

Doyoung begins opening his mouth but no words come out. _Oh, shoot._ “Um, he told me you’re his best friend, and I told him how I never should’ve...”

Taeyong raises his brows patiently. Doyoung straightens up. “I’m here to apologize for being a jerk and for hurting your feelings. I shouldn’t have lied to you after you’ve been so good to me. And to say thank you for the wallet and for the wonderful nights I’ve had with you.”

“Oh.” Taeyong shifts his weight from one foot to another. Ears tinge with pink. “You’re, um, welcome.”

“And I’m sorry for having ever to come up to you that night.” Doyoung continues. “I never should’ve.”

It’s a little secret he tells himself, a selfish voice whispering at the back of everyone’s head that is often silenced. If Doyoung were given a do-over bearing the knowledge of the subsequent events should he go down the same path, he’d not change anything. He’ll still look for Taeyong but for the right intentions this time. He’ll look for glowing Taeyong, not meaningless sex for the sake of the pale intention of forgetting his ex through it.

“Nah, what was I expecting anyway? Just because someone looks decent, doesn’t mean they really are right? Not in the place like that.” Taeyong freezes, perhaps only realizing how it sounds like out loud. He bites his lip. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. It’s alright, I know.” Doyoung chuckles.

“But we were pretty hammered then.” Taeyong saves. “Nobody is decent when intoxicated in a place like that.”

“Both looking for something stupid to do.”

“Both found each other...”

They laugh. It’s comfortably nice. The rigidity is beginning to dissipate between them to make way for something so much more smoother, and Doyoung rides the wave easily. Taeyong makes it easy.

They exchange more food stories, because it’s one common ground on top of an unfolding list, as Taeyong gets himself a plate and sits down, chirpier now and smiling like the way he smiled at the park with the cats. Doyoung finds the eggs much more delicious than he remembered now that he’s not trying to get away.

Sitting down with Taeyong and talking to him actually feels weirdly nice. A warming kind of nice, and feels much more intimate than the three nights they shared before. A little poke and prod about animals have Taeyong gushing about his dog in the province he calls Ruby who’s going to live with him starting next week. The conversation flows naturally after that as Doyoung listens intently to the stories of how Ruby is the best girl in the world, blinded by Taeyong’s beams and enthusiastic recounts of various Ruby-related anecdotes. Doyoung takes everything in; from how much Taeyong adores animals and how he had a goldfish once in grade school and various more animals each year through middle school, all having died on him and rested peacefully in their backyard. He gets carried away with every quirk of his lip and every word he stumbles upon in excitement... Taeyong makes it easy.

In return, Doyoung tells stuff about himself. He tells him his roommate Jungwoo is his best friend even if neither of them admits it, and the guy has saved his ass in more occasions than one. He tells Taeyong he wants to be a singer, but also wants to get a good job and settle down with the peace an idol life could never offer him. He tells Taeyong about his recent breakup and how it eventually led him to this situation.

“I’m sorry about that.” Taeyong looks surprisingly unruffled. His soothing words include “Breakups are hard. We do stupid things with alcohol. How are you holding up?” like the good friend he is.

He tells Taeyong a lot of stuff before he even realized it.

After a while, they sit in silence with plates clear of sweets and food.  

 “You know, I’m not the one to know, but I don’t think one-night stands are supposed to go like this.”

“Well, it was technically three nights.”

That draws a light chuckle out of Taeyong.

“I’m Doyoung, by the way.” Doyoung smiles, Taeyong smiles back. “Kim Doyoung.”

 

 

After that, Taeyong becomes part of Doyoung’s circle of friends, much to both Johnny and Jungwoo’s delight. (Johnny being the Mother Hen that he is, Jungwoo for finally being acquainted with “The Hottie with the Mullet”)

For “The Guy From Last Night” who was meant to remain that way until Doyoung realized it was never going to happen, Taeyong is a pretty good friend.

But not for long.

 

 

**_Five months later..._ **

Doyoung doesn’t imagine being perched hard to another wall, rutting and breathing hard against sweaty skin, teeth sinking into the smooth recess of someone else’s collarbones. Well, after Jaehyun he never thought he’d fall in love again.

Not for another few years anyway. Not until he graduates. Not until he can finally make sure his lover would not leave him to be a better student. Then, he swore never to date students. But Taeyong, _oh Taeyong._

Taeyong makes it hard. And here we are.

Doyoung savors the feeling of the soft locks through his fingers, tugging and grazing the smooth and jet black and—

“ _Ah.”_

He giggles. “Your hair is such a turn-on.”

Taeyong shudders underneath him, beautifully flushed and open, beaming and all for him. He bites his lips then hums. “Knew you’d like it.”

It’s slick now with sweat. Taeyong had it cut in just the right length so he could fist it for the right volume. Adorably fluffy when dry, criminally provocative when dampened. He dips down to kiss a sweet trail of his jaw, kissing away a bead of sweat that slides down his neck. “I love this color on you.”

Taeyong is busy tracing characters of his name across Doyoung’s back. “That’s what you say every time I change it.”

“Well, that’s the truth.”

“You were never this enthusiastic with the mullet.”

 _Whoops._ “Um, I do like the succeeding ones better.”

Taeyong shrugs at his honesty. “You fell in love with me while I was wearing that.”

“ _Despite_.” Doyoung presses his lips against his ear, whispers hotly. “I love you so much.”

Taeyong whispers back; it’s all air, feverish lust. It’s a little different from the Taeyong the world sees, but it’s still Taeyong, and it's the Taeyong whom Doyoung alone, has the privilege to see. “Prove it, pretty boy.”

Doyoung goes deep, and he does.

 

 

So it turns out, Doyoung is not bad at handling breakups anymore. He had always thought it’d be because he wouldn’t have to go through the misery of picking and caring and loving and getting himself hurt all over again.

Well, he didn’t expect it'd be because he never went through another breakup ever again.

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god it ended a lot cheesier than i thought it would...
> 
> fic inspired by:  
> 1) me, trying to ridicule the absurdity of one-night stands. and then projecting it to the person whom i relate to a lot.  
> 2) this very thought-provoking [photo](https://i.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/facebook/001/258/892/732.jpg) i've been seeing very frequently around tl.  
> 3) rude_astrology's hilarious: "i wanted drama-free dick. but he's a cancer" smth. i couldn't find the link to the tweet but believe me it's out there. and it cracked me up so hard.  
> 4) lovable awkward side of the dotae dynamics which everyone ignores in favor of the "bickering" - taeyong being lovable, affectionate / doyoung stumbling over his words when caught off-guard, unbelievably smooth when needed etc. etc. 
> 
> i deliberately didn't dive in too deep but the roller coaster that is a pisces venus doyoung... i hope i captured it well.  
> come say hi yalls  
> [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/meoksin) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/slythos)


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